March Madness Redux
Or...
A Magnificent Obsession

On Sunday, March 15, many folks were glued to the television for the NCAA basketball championship bracket selection show. At the same time, five people, two Malamute huskies, two NRS E-150 rafts, a MaverIK I inflatable kayak and four days worth of gear were crammed in and onto a 15-passenger van, headed to Idaho’s Salmon River.

I use “redux” in the title, because last year about this same time, four of these folks, along with a couple of other crazies headed up into the Snake River canyon. It was chronicled in a story I titled Cold Days in Hells.

Brian previously worked at NRS, as the Wholesale Rep for the Mountain West. He’s now gone back to graduate school. Paco works in Customer Service and if you wander into our Moscow retail outlet, you’ll see the results of his great gear displays. Tyler took over Brian’s Wholesale territory.

The other human in the van was Brian’s lovely wife, Jenni, one of NRS’s purchasers. She volunteered to do shuttle duty for our merry band of men. Jack and Koda, our canine companions rode up on the gear piled in the back.

Koda giving Mama some love. © Clyde Nicely

We drove through snow-covered fields on the Camas Prairie to the Pine Bar put-in on the Lower Salmon. We got there mid-afternoon and dove into getting boats inflated and gear sorted out, so Jenni, Jack and Koda could get on the road. We all donned drysuits and probably pushed off around 5:00, but I can’t be sure since none of us had a watch.

Rolling across the snow covered prairie. © Clyde Nicely

We started out with Tyler in the IK, Paco in his pretty yellow boat and Brian and me in Ol’ Blue. A strong downstream wind helped push us along at a good pace. We passed a group gathered near a fire high above the river. They yelled a few phrases that sounded propelled by booze and a shot rang out as we passed. It didn’t seem aimed at us, but we decided to put on miles to get beyond road-bound bozos.

Ahead, a black weather wall approached and the wind turned into our face. We struggled against it as rain began to fall. We found a decent beach just as it was getting dark. It was a rodeo putting up the River Wing in the powerful wind; but Paco’s an outdoor engineer, so he helped angle it right. We pitched it low and it held.

The rain was blowing horizontal and yes, it was cold. We all kept on the drysuits, pulled on splash jackets over for more insulation, donned wool beanies and huddled under the Wing. Tyler pulled dinner duty and wowed us with his Thai Soup. I love Thai food, and I swear his dish was as good as any I’ve had in a restaurant. Shrimp and chicken bathed in a spicy coconut milk and vegetable laced broth, seasoned to perfection with curry paste, chilis and lemongrass. Oh and then he heated up homemade egg rolls in the Coleman Camp Oven. We were warmed inside and the blazing Firepan just outside cast a bit of warmth to our outsides.

Our low-slung first camp. Oops, we pitched the River Wing upside down! Hey, it was dark. © Clyde Nicely

Eventually the rain slacked and we broke out of shelter to put up our tents. Then we could gather around the Firepan, to relax and laugh. But we kept on the drysuits.

It rained throughout the night and dawn brought low hanging clouds, frozen puddles and a visible snow line. We gathered under the Wing, drank coffee and Baileys, heated up Ty’s breakfast burritos and waited to see if the rain would stop. And waited and waited. We’d about decided that we’d have to lay over if we didn’t want to pack in the rain, when we got a break.

Mountain Bluebird, a beautiful bit of color on a gray winter day. © Brian Chaffin

We dove into putting away gear, getting into drysuits and loading boats. Hardly had we gotten underway when we got a real treat – a flock of Mountain Bluebirds (the Idaho State Bird) flitted along the river beside us! I’ve never seen them this low down before; I think they were migrating back into the highlands by following the river canyon. No matter what, it was awesome to see this flight of bright blue birds flying from grey rock to rock.

And speaking of color. A total mind blowing color you only see in that river corridor when it’s cold and wet is in the “moss” on the rocks in a relatively narrow band above the water. I’ll call it moss, I’m not sure of the taxonomy, but anyway it is a vibrant florescent green; a green that you’d swear was artificial. In the summer, the color mutes to a much darker, less obvious tone.

The vibrant green “moss” bathes the river banks. © Clyde Nicely

Looks like a sci-fi alien. © Tyler Harris

We cruised on through the afternoon. Not much sun and occasional showers. Brian and I traded off rowing. He did an excellent job of running us through China Rapid and we put on 14 miles to get to Upper Maloney Camp, still with plenty of daylight. Wing up and Paco caught a bait fish, so the guys put out a sturgeon bait. Brian had a strike from a steelhead trout, but lost it. As Tyler was changing into camp clothes, he turned to me in all seeming seriousness and said, “Clyde, I have to be honest with you.” Startled, I said, “Yeah?” He said, “You know, it wouldn’t hurt my feelings if it didn’t rain on us any more this trip.” Yep, an honest man.

It was my turn for dinner. I served up some tortilla soup, home barbequed pulled pork sandwiches with Spicy Memphis Coleslaw, and brownies for dessert. Then, as night came we settled down for a relaxing evening.

Ah, but Tyler heard something and stepped outside the Wing. “The rod is clicking!” And a mad dash for the river ensued. Ty set the hook and the race was on. From the tug on the line it was obvious that it was a big fish. Then it got into the current and the combination of the sturgeon’s power and the water’s force was huge. Tyler grudgingly gave ground until we got to the raging Maloney Creek. Brian waded out part way and Tyler passed the rod off to him. I raced back to camp to put my river shoes back on and Paco grabbed his camera.

The battle continued along the bank with Tyler back on the rod. Paco too took a turn. I was the only one without a fishing license, so I shot some photos with Paco’s camera. The fish tired before the fishermen did, so they all finally met at the shore. Sturgeon are such prehistoric looking creatures. This one was a beauty, at least six feet long.

Tyler straining to reel in the monster. © Paco Echevarria

The fishermen prepare to release the beautiful fish. © Paco Echevarria

They reset the sturgeon pole and we retired back to the Wing. Ah, and Tyler’s wish was not fulfilled, as it began to rain. Oh well, Paco served us up a delicious gin and tonic, Brian brought out his guitar and we had a most mellow evening. And that Tyler, what a man of many talents he is. I’ve known him for quite a while and even carpooled with him and didn’t know he played guitar. Great music from the two of them.

Brian crankin’ out, “I want to live, I want to give, I’ve been a miner for a heart of gold…” © Paco Echevarria

The Three Boat-Keteers, Paco, Brian and Tyler, pulling my boat ashore to start unloading firewood. © Clyde Nicely

I awoke in the night and heard what sounded like a siren. It went on for a while and I decided I wasn’t crazy, that it was actually there. Since we had seen canine tracks on the beach when we arrived, I figure it was a pack of coyotes whose howling and yipping was muffled and distorted by the sound of the rushing creek.

St. Patrick’s Day dawned with a tease of sun, quickly replaced with clouds. The day on the water was hard slogging, with a lot of upstream winds and slow, flat water. Brian and I traded off rowing. Poor Tyler and Paco slaved away solo. Again, we pulled into camp with daylight left. The BLM map calls it Skeleton Creek Camp, but some of my old boating buddies named it “Shade Beach.” There’s a large grove of black locust trees on a high bench that provides much needed shade in the summer. No leaves this time of year, but the tree trunks made great anchors for Wing tiedowns.

Brian did up St. Patty’s dinner right, he did. Corned beef with boiled cabbage, potatoes, carrots and onion, with green sugar cookies for dessert. Oh, yeah. Then the guitar came out and the night got long and crazy.

Paco grinning at his generous slab of corned beef, as Brian says, “Cabbage, carrot, potatoes, onion?” © Clyde Nicely

Even after the night’s runaway, we were still up pretty early, or at least Brian was. He’d made up a Dutch oven breakfast casserole before things got too crazy. French bread layer in the bottom, then alternating layers of precooked breakfast sausage, ham chunks, black olives, artichoke hearts and cheese. Then eggs scrambled with milk poured over and a final sprinkle of cheese. It cooked up to this moist succulent goodness with lots of different flavors and textures. Just the thing for a hangover.

Tyler suited up, braced up and ready for action. © Paco Echevarria

Tyler had to get out early (the workaholic), so he packed up early and shoved off in his IK. I’d have worried more about some people, but Ty is one of the best boaters I’ve known and he’s not a daredevil. So, the rest of the trip we thought about him, but he made the 28 miles to Heller Bar tired, but in fine shape.

For Paco, Brian and me, it was a good day of enjoying Blue Canyon, some sun, some wind, some rapids. Lunch near the mouth of the Salmon, then seven miles down the Snake to Lower Cottonwood Camp. Beautiful evening, but the Wing still went up. Paco’s dinner was delightful. He built a good fire in the Firepan with driftwood and burned it down to a nice bed of coals.

Toasted split bagels and made bruschetta with guacamole, roasted red pepper, sliced tomato and pepper jack cheese. Heated up some African Ground Nut Soup, made by his lady, Erin. Proceeded to cook a herking beef sirloin roast over the coals. Cooked to perfection, sliced across the grain and served with sourdough bread heated on the coals and a tomato/lemon salad… Mmmm, good.

They put out the sturgeon rod again, baited this time with a chunk of leftover corned beef. Either there were no sturgeon in the hole or they weren’t Irish, so no fish. Mellow night, owl hooting across the river. Early to bed for me.

Brian and Paco digging into the bruschetta. © Clyde Nicely

No drama on the row out on Thursday. Very few jetboats and we didn’t see any other rafts the whole trip. Hmm, wonder why? Great trip. We all decided that now we have a March Madness tradition that needs to be kept up. Look out 2010!

The Sub Title – A Magnificent Obsession
I added that because I did a lot of thinking about and talking about with Brian, why after 30+ years of boating I’m still like the firehouse dog. When the alarm rings (“Want to go boating?”), I want to jump in the truck (raft) and go to the fire (river)?

The answers I came up with, though partial, were:

1. It’s away from the everyday. It drops the curtain, I’m in another world. The phone doesn’t ring, there’s no media distraction. I can feel the tension of the other world drain away as soon as I push off the bank.
    
2. I love the outdoors. It recharges my batteries. The scenery is ever-changing and magnificent. The sights, sounds, smells ground me in a way nothing else does.
    
3. I majored in wildlife science and I never tire of the diversity of life along the river. This trip the Canyon Wrens were already back. Eagles soared. The Mountain Bluebirds were a gift. I heard chickadees; don’t remember hearing them before. Always new things to see and discover.
    
4. The camaraderie of boating companions. It’s fun to introduce new people to the river, but it’s also great to go with old friends and folks that share that deep love for it that I have. Brian, Tyler and Paco are all ex-river guides and consummate outdoorsmen. We’ve boated together a lot. We gear up, set up camp and work together like a well-oiled machine. We organized this trip with a few emails and only forgot one important thing – bowls. We speak the same language.
    
5. It’s a challenge. I spent a lot of years bagging new rivers and hunting out rapids. The rapids are no longer a big draw for me, but they’re part of the mix and it’s still a good feeling to run one well. But all of it is a challenge; all parts of it require a continual mastery.
    
6. It puts me in touch with an earlier time. Yes, we now use much more technically advanced gear, but there’s still a contact with the primitive that I like.
    
7. There’s a hard to describe spiritual dimension to the river experience, but it’s there. I recall when I worked on a wildlife refuge in NE Utah, a neighboring rancher, Harold, described it as, “When I’m up in the mountains herding my cows, I’m in my church.” While I fairly regularly attend a church with walls and a roof, my river church is a sacred space that nourishes my soul and gladdens my heart.

I’ve sat in more river camps than I can count and watched the river roll by. It’s always a mystical feeling to think that it just keeps on flowing by, always, always. Life is like a river trip. You push out into the stream and the flow transports you where it’s going to take you. Sometimes it turns out like you planned and sometimes it surprises you with Plan B. If you cling to the shore, or never push off, you don’t get to experience life, or the river’s gifts.

And the river just keeps rolling on. © Paco Echevarria

May all your waters keep flowing. May all your companions on the journey be fun. May you laugh often and breathe deeply.

As always, I enjoy hearing from our readers. What draws you back to the water? Drop me a line at editor@nrsweb.com.

Boat Often, Boat Safe and may the River Gods take a likin’ to Ya,

Clyde
e-News Editor